


A Collection of Spontaneous Tales

by ah_geee



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Naruto, 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: Don't copy to another site, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:48:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25390045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ah_geee/pseuds/ah_geee
Summary: Some snippets and shorts that has been gathering dust in my folders, some are complete shorts or some may be cut abruptly. They may turn into actual stories, depending on their popularity and my motivation to work on it.
Kudos: 3





	1. Sands in the Hourglass

**Author's Note:**

> The gist of it: Hero!Gaara, Yo Shindo!Brother, Reincarnation

In his second life, he is happy. 

Although he cannot break the habit of keeping his stoic demeanour, he is happy. 

When death came to him in his previous life ( _a life full of friends, a life of family and bonds- a life of death and war and blood-)_ it was not like he expected it to be. Like being laid slowly in a warm bath, he drifted and dreamed in a cocoon of warmth. Memories of dear friends lulled him in his state of drifting and dreaming. He dreamed of a smile that rivalled the sun in its brightness. Calloused, scarred hand in his and smiling lips calling him ‘ _friend’._

Then, shock pulses in his very being, pulling, pushing, hurting, _hurting, hurting-_ his eyes open and lock to a face. Flushed skin and inky strands cling to the face’s damp forehead and cheeks. Deep purple rings around her eyes, red-rimmed and teary as she looks down on him. But she is beautiful because she is smiling _._

She is smiling like she sees the stars be hung in the night sky, like she is holding all that is good and _precious_. She’s smiling… at _him._

He bursts into tears.

It surprised him too. It wasn’t the best of reactions when someone looks at you with so much _love and devotion_ , but the wonderful woman laughed and kissed his head. 

“Haruto... _Haruto_ , you’re here. You’re so beautiful. _I love you._ ”

She whispers it against his skin and his cries soften to a stop as her ardent words has him entranced.

“I love you, I love you, I love you. I love you **_so_** much.”

She _loves_ him. _Mother_.

_You are Mother. You love me. **Me.**_

He begins to drift to sleep. His mind exhausted from its impossible transition to his infantile body.

The last thing he hears is his new _Mother’s_ declarations of love, her own unique lullaby to him, as he succumbs to sleep.

<<<>>

The next time he wakes he is in the arms of his big brother ( _not Kankuro, small, no purple war paint, no puppets, just a big-big smile, like the sun. Like...like…)._

His name is Yō. He is in the middle of half telling- half babbling to him about the games they’ll play, the adventures they’ll go to, and how Yō will show him the secret hiding spot he has in the garden.

He drifts again with the voice of his new family following him to sleep.

<<<>>>

He lives in a beach house. The rolling waves of the sea is the view from his nursery and the smell of salt water is the fragrance that fills the home. The gulls that cry always wake him but he doesn’t cry as much as he used to. An instinct that he has now overcome, he doesn’t burst out crying anymore and Mother calls him a quiet child. But still she tells him she loves him.

Haruto ( _not Gaara, not anymore, not a demon_ ) is nearly two when he sees a ‘quirk’ for the first time. He and Yō are sitting in their high chairs, a small bowl of carrot sticks in front of them while Mother cooks. Yō is swinging around a carrot stick like a sword, urging him to do the same. 

He nibbles on his carrot, unimpressed. Food isn’t for playing.

Just when he was about to give his brother a disapproving frown, Mother taps her foot on the ground without looking away from the pot. Suddenly, the high chairs are moving closer in a gentle up and down motion. 

Haruto looks down and stares wide eyed at the _tile floors_ bending and moving like waves, carrying them closer to Mother. Yō cheers and laughs as they’re rocked gently across the room. Mother looks at the contrasting reactions and laughs.

Haruto learns about quirks, reading and reading and watching television. There is no chakra, only quirks. There is no shinobi, only heroes and villains. There are no villages, only cities and countries. There is nothing familiar, no _home_ , only new and-and-

Soft warm hands caress his cheeks

Mother.

Rambunctious laughter.

Yō

Only Mother and Yō.

Happy. There is _happiness_.

Happiness that he treasures. Every day when Mother smiles, when Yō wants to play, when the house is just a symphony of laughing and loving- that is happiness, that is a treasure. _His treasure._ Haruto loves this world. Gaara misses his. 

But he is happy here because Mother and Yō are here too. 

Everything is new and alien, but that is fine. He is happy. His happiness, his laughing, his **_love,_** was in Suna. But it’s _here_ too. Gaara- Haruto won’t forget the old memories, but he won’t stop making new memories either (sunshine-smiles, golden sun warmth, hands holding, promising, friendships and bonds. He’ll never _ever_ forget).

Yō throws a carrot stick at his head and laughs. Mother giggles. Haruto grins.

<<<>>>

He is three when the sands follow him. 


	2. Unto Skies of Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gist of it: Naruto/HP x-over, Reincarnation. Uzumaki!Harry Potter, Pre-Canon, Third Great Ninja War Era,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was thinking a Harry Potter/Kakashi Hatake pairing for this i think hrmmm... it's all coming back to me now.

起死回生

_“Wake from death and return to life.”_

Meaning “to turn a bad or desperate situation into a success.”

.

He is four years old when obasan slaps his face for the third time in his life.

The first is when he had shoved his twin sister away after she had given him a painful pinch in his thigh as infants, almost a year old. It wasn’t enough to send her toppling down from where she sat her baby-fat bottom on the floor, but she carefully laid herself down and threw a fit anyway.

The little devil.

Obasan came rushing, saw the tomato-red, crocodile tear stained, scrunched up face of his twin and him staring blankly at her before quickly coming to the wrong conclusion. She stomped her way over, picked up his twin sister, and reached out to give him a slap across his face.

He cried but she was too busy comforting his sister.

His sister got away with her bullying against him because obasan said that women should show a man who’s boss and that their hands are too delicate to hit so hard so it wouldn’t hurt him. He never did like his obasan. But he learned to keep away from his sister, lest he be blamed once again for her trouble making.

Sometimes they were sent away from home to be taken care of by the women in the village, mostly wives who stay at home while their husbands tend to the rice fields, when obasan leaves to work as the village healer. They say that he was such a smart boy, he could speak clearly for his young age, awkward strings of words that utter polite greetings, while his sister could only laugh at the sight of her feet.

Such a pretty thing you are, they say. The young ladies will swoon at such a sight.

Then they would titter while they went back to stitching closed the holes in kimonos or scrub the clothes clean until their hands are raw.

He would kiss their cheeks at their kind words and they would start another round of cooing.

His twin, the jealous creature she was, would cry until all the women paid their attention to her.

The second time happened in his second spring. He was allowed to play with the other children in the small village, because he can walk without stumbling and talk without stuttering. His sister stays at home, finding the company of obasan far greater than the dirty village children.

He admires first the pretty pink trees (sakura, little one, cherry blossoms, the women laugh) and smell the blossoms that detached itself from the branches and onto the floor. He loved flowers. The kind of love that would make him spend hours just admiring and basking in the smell of the garden that obasan tends. Sadly, she never would let him touch them. Something about a man’s hands being too rough to handle the delicate stems and petals. Hmph!

He’ll leave her to it then!

(No matter how much his hands itch to fix the leaning stems of the asymmetrical rows of tulips.)

There was a spot where many of the children gathered to play every day. It was in an open area, easy for parents to spot their children and a just away from the village’s border. The children loved it because of the oak tree, thick and sturdy with many branches to climb, and the small slope it faced for the others to roll down on.

He heard them before he saw them.

They shrieked and laughed out their joy. He stopped underneath the large oak tree, shading him from the sun and from view. The village children were roaring with laughter as they took turns sliding down the slope with a spare flat wooden board. He looked on curiously at their activity, frowning at the grass stains on their kimonos.

Obasan would have smacked him upside the head and shout a storm if she ever saw even a speck of dirt on his clothes.

Perhaps play should be reserved at a later date…

“Watcha doing, weirdo?”

He looked up to the source of the voice. A young girl sat straddling on a branch above him with a snaggle toothed grin. Her hair was brown and pin-straight, hanging above her shoulders. A few leaves and twigs were caught in her hair, but she either didn’t notice or cared. She was plain looking if a bit dirty, but her eyes were the only thing that stood out, he thought. They were blue, like the sky. He quite liked the colour, and he told her so.

She flushed brightly, laying both hands on each flaming cheek. “Really? Ya think so?”

He nodded, watching as she swung down the branch to stand in front of him. She was only a few inches taller than him.

The girl looked at him shyly through her lashes, face still red. “Do ya think I’m pretty?”

Obasan’s voice echoed in his head, something she said to his twin once a long time ago. Young ladies are like flowers, my dear. Some in full bloom and some may yet blossom, but they show pretty petals in the end. And you, my dear, are the prettiest of them all. He always thought his sister was more of a pig- chubby and snorts when she laughs. But still…

“Like a flower,” he says with a smile and she absolutely beams.

The girl grabs his hands, “I like ya! You’re my boyfriend now!” She pulls him towards the direction of the other children. “C’mon, let’s play with the others!”

When they reach the others, she loudly introduces him as her new boyfriend, holding up their joined hands as proof. Children gathered and gave them mixed reactions. The girls giggle and coo while the boys gag and warn him of ‘cooties.’ Then they split off to play their own games. The girls wanted to play house and the boys wanted to play Oni Gokko. They both wanted him to play with them. The girls said they need a boy to play husband and the boys said they need one more player.

“Nuh-uh, he’s my boyfriend! He’s going with us!” The girl said, clutching his arm. The other girls voiced their agreement.

“No way! He’s a boy, he doesn’t want to play girly games!” shouted a skinny boy with a lisp from his few missing teeth.

“Yeah he does, look!” she looked at him, brows furrowed. “You wanna play house right?”

“I- no...not really,” he said. His sister often forced him to play with her and it just so happened it was a game called ‘house.’ As in, bossing him around and pulling his hair for her so-called ‘braiding’. If that was the case then he’d much rather play this new game with the boys.

He watched her face grow redder, not in embarrassment this time, but in anger. The boy’s gave her a smug look that only fueled her fury.

She stomped her feet on the ground, tears gathering in her eyes, “Ugh! You’re stupid!” She shoved him roughly, making him stumble back. “You’re not my boyfriend anymore!”

“Ha! He probably didn’t want to be in the first place!” taunted another boy.

“Shut it, Hiro!”

“Make me!”

It escalated from there. Boys were taunting and jeering and the girls were red-faced and screeching. Nobody seemed to want to play anymore, so he walked away, intent on going back to look from flowers instead. He didn’t like conflict much. His twin called him a coward for it, and Obasan doesn’t scold her for it.

Something hits his shoulder with a splat. He feels it in his hair and neck too. He looks back and the girl is looking at him, hand holding wet mud and face a mask of fury. “Ya aren’t allowed to play here ever again, ya hear! Ya...ya...freak!”

She threw another wad of mud and it hit his left sleeve. Freak. The word made his chest hurt and something burned at his core, wanting him to deny it for some peculiar reason. But instead he turned around and walked back home. He’ll be extra sneaky and make sure Obasan doesn’t see.

The next day, Obasan goes home storming in and slaps him across the face. One of the women who watched over them while Obasan was at work said that her little sister told her that he had thrown mud at her face and was being mean to her, so she refused to take care of him and his sister. When Obasan asked the other wives, they refused also and hurried away.

Turns out rumours spread quickly. No matter if they knew it to be false or not.

The third time happened at a night that was lit by a fire that blazed and ate the village.

People are screaming and Obasan and him are hidden behind her greenhouse. His cheek was throbbing and his head had whipped to the side at how hard she slapped him. He feels tears gather.

There is blood running down his face from when he had tripped and banged his head on a jagged rock when obasan dragged him to safety and soot is clinging onto him.

His sister is not here. His sister is dead, Obasan cries, she’s gone.

Obasan is a mess. Her hair is in shambles, she is dirty and face caked with soot and tears. Her chest is bleeding, but she is clutching his shoulders, speaking to him.

He is four years old.

He is four years old and memories bombard him and say he has lived a whole lifetime before this.

“...do you understand, Yurimaru?” Obasan is shaking and he feels like he’s somewhere far away.

She is speaking but he can hardly hear her, his head is pounding at the onslaught of memories upon memoried stacking over his weak mind.

Harī Pottā. No… that’s not it… I’m…

“Yurimaru, get ready…”

Yes...I’m Yurimaru, but…

“...don’t make a noise.”

You are also me.

Searing pain lands on his chest and his eyes grow wide. A hand painfully clamps over his mouth and muffles his scream. His body is locked in its position no matter how much it wants to curl away from the pain. It’s like a hot rod pressing against his chest with a crushing weight crushing his rib cage. His mind (no, not his-yes, yes, yours. Me. Mine. Ours) whispers, ‘I’ve had worse.’

Who? Which one?

Tears are falling but the pain is gone. Soft hands are cradling his face and he sees they’re from Obasan. Her thumb wipes away his tears and this is the first time she touched him so gently. It makes more tears fall.

“Obasan…” he sobs.

She shakes her head. “Leave.”

She pulls away and clutches her bleeding chest. Red is drenching her kimono and he wants to stay, he wants to help. But he doesn’t want any blood. His hands clench hard until his nails pierce the skin at the palm of his hand. She won’t…

(runrunrunrunrunrunrunRUN!)

And he’s running.

The village is burning behind him, Obasan is dying, and his sister-

(I have no siblings! No sisters, no brothers-yes, yes a sister, remember? Hinagiku)

His lungs are burning, and he wants to wake from this nightmare. Obasan is a healer, why doesn’t she save herself? Who is doing this? Why is everything burnburnburning!?

He can hear the fires eating away at the village, hungry still and searching for more to feast on. Yurimaru’s head is pounding with the memories and the blood that is rushing to help his burning lungs pump and pump-

He feels a vicious yank on his yukata from behind, vicious enough to give him whiplash. Then he is in the air as the ground explodes with blinding white fire and spit out flaming clumps of dirt.

**Author's Note:**

> Two years this has been left untouched, though I feel a spark of wanting to work on it again...


End file.
